


Only Gods Live Forever

by footlooseandfancybe



Category: Hercules (1997), Hercules - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, F/F, F/M, GIVE IT TIME, M/M, Magical Realism, Other, Technology Magic, Urban Fantasy, liam is hercules, my fave ladies, this'll develop, zayn is based on megara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3627156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/footlooseandfancybe/pseuds/footlooseandfancybe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London, 2123<br/>The brutal fusion of magic and technology may have lifted humans out of the Age of Ignorance, but it sure hasn't made anyone safer.<br/>When your best friend is The Oracle at Mullingar, a group of Lwa refuse to vacate the pool of the local community center, your other best friend has inherited the powers of her less-than-honorable ancestor, and, oh yes, a demigod shows up on your doorstep begging for help to save the world, Zain Malik can attest to just how dangerous this 'Age of Wonder' is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teach Me, and I Will be Silent

1993  
Sing to me oh Muse! 

Of the craving for Power and Desire to see Beyond all things! 

Sing to me of Nobility and Skill, Treachery and Pain. 

Of Great Love and Great Sacrifice. 

 

Hades materializes in front of the elderly care home at 3 pm on a Thursday afternoon in October. Granted, no one much cares about materialization, and seeing as he is not in his formal “Greek god ruler of the Undead” form, no one bows or asks for mercy or even screams. Those who remember his old name, Awides, know that this is how it should be. Not many who remember the name exist now. Ah well. 

He has an appointment for tea.

 

Out behind the home, in the small olive grove, the three are clustered together, as they always are. Never separated, silently industrious. Today they are knitting lace doilies. The thread they knit is fine and black and breathes. The doilies stretch like carpets about their feet. Much like Hades himself, no one notices the thread or knitting. To any outside observer, they’d see three old grannies with afghans on laps, snoring in the afternoon sunshine. 

“Kalispera sas, Moirai." Hades uses the formality; Clotho is the biggest stickler for 'respecting your elders'.

“Kalispera Hades” they intone in unison. The clicking of the needles, the thumping of Nona's spinning wheel continues, without hand or foot guiding them. Nona sips her tea delicately and murmurs “You have come to hear the prophecy then?”

“if you would be so kind” 

“You know that we are not.” the coy voice has become flat and dead.

“I am aware. It’s a turn of phrase dear Nona”

“Speak the question.”

Hades tsks quietly. Some of the old ones have gotten literal in their age. 

Pulling a golden coin from an invisible pocket, Hades begins to chant in a gently mocking tone

“O moirai creators of humanity’s path: will the titans be freed and all the living and dead subordinated to my will? What does the progress of time reveal? I humbly beseech thee”

Silence.

“Ahem ah...please?” says Hades politely. 

Atropos stirs, seemingly from a light sleep. Her sharpened metal teeth glint in the sunlight.

The planets shall align so nicely,  
Freed Titans and countless threads cut.

So Zeus will finally fall,  
Hades might be felt! 

Zeus’ son from Olympus' high top shall meet with equal might.  
In the river of souls all fates will be decided.”

“I see.” he doesn’t really. Only annoyance fills Hades head as he turns to Lachesis. “And you? Have you the time?”

Lachesis draws forth a knitting needle. If there was a yarn ball the size of a bowling ball, the needle would be proportionally accurate. Her large eyes open, open, open, open. A mosaic of irises all blinking and staring at the needle. In a voice like the echo of a grandfather clock's chime, the yawning silence of eternity, and the squeal of a rusty gate, she says:

20 years time

“Pardon?”

20 years time 

The voice repeats in an echo that seems to be coming from a hole in space above Lachesis’ head. 

“Ah.” He places the coin in Nona’s outstretched wrinkled hand. “Well as always, it has been a pleasure my dears” 

“Yassas moirai.”

“Yassas Hades.”


	2. Show Me Where I Have Been Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Two Very Important Birthdays Occur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is really the only scene where Liam is called Hercules. The adorable babbling baby is Liam.

_That Same Day, Somewhere in Bradford, England…_

The day Zayn was born, the sun was shining and a rain was falling, all at once. No one expected them both to live, Tricia and Zayn, one too tired the other too upside down. But they managed it. As the sun dazzled and the rain pattered against the glass, the nurse glanced suspiciously between the strange weather and Zayn’s father. He was a deity, after all, one could never be too careful. But truly, no one minded all that much. The birthright, Doniya, snuggled into their father’s side, gently stroking a tiny, soft, brown cheek. Zayn’s eyes drifted open, revealing soft, unfocused, brown eyes.

“Jaan, meet your new brother,” Doniya tilted her head, sizing up the new life in her father’s arms.

“Well? What do you think?”

“I think he smells good.” Yaser thought he saw Tricia smile. They knew they had the best five year old in the universe. “I know he is very stubborn, and very funny.” Yaser smiled at this daughter’s predictions. Her ability to perceive a person’s nature was already growing strong. 

“Should we keep him?” 

Doniya gasped in horror.

“Baba! He’s too good and great not to keep!”

“You better, after all the work I just did,” a sleep clogged voice came from the bed. Yaser laughed. 

“I was just surveying popular opinion. We don’t want dissent among the ranks.” Before Tricia could muster a retort, a soft gurgling whine issued from the bundle of blankets.

“Oh, now, see, he wants his mum. Better let him go,” Yaser stood to deliver Zayn to Tricia’s waiting arms.

“But Baba!” Doniya whines, tugging his shirt.

“You can hold him later, jaan.” Doniya pouts, but sidles up to her mother’s bedside without further complaint. She wanted to feel Zayn’s love just a little longer; it spilled out of him without reserve or judgment. Doniya had a feeling that that would never change.

On the other side of the world...another life came into being, this one full of strength and vitality and devotion. His name was Hercules.

 

 

_A year later, S.S. Mount Olympus, somewhere off the coast of Greece_

Zeus loved parties. Seeing as he was boisterous, hilarious, beloved, and promiscuous this came as a surprise to no one at all. Hera indulged him. 

“Alllllright!” he bellowed. “Everyone good and drunk? Enjoying the boat?! Good good!” He smiled as the gods and goddesses happily cheered or politely murmured in reply. The sun was gently setting, and the golden light made the water seem molten. A warm breeze made the evening gowns and effervescent magical clouds flutter around the goddesses. This was an entirely intentional and alluring effect that they had agreed upon ahead of time, of course. Contemporary (but not too contemporary) music stylishly played on invisible speakers. Narcissus and Apollo had been intensely discussing the international markets, especially Japan and China. Zeus had only been half listening, and now was clearly ready to get to the task at hand. 

“Hera my love! Where’s our little tot?!” 

Hera, who would have been recognized by most mortals from her frequent appearance in perfume ads, sashayed over in a luminous pink evening gown and mockingly considered the question. 

“Dear you know he’s with the nurse. This is not a difficult concept” she purrs as she adjusts his tie for the seemingly thousandth time. 

“Ah yes of course of course...nurse! Bring Hercules if you would be so kind?” Zeus said in a raised voice and then leaned down to aggressively kiss Hera. 

The glass door set back behind the pool area slid open and out walked Demeter, the nurse, slowly leading an immaculately dressed child who was happily babbling to himself about not much in particular. He didn’t need her hand to stay balanced, more that she needed to keep him from toddling away and going in the pool, which was one of his favorites. 

“Excellent!! Excellent,” trumpeted Zeus. He beckoned Hercules closer as he continued “Now! Everyone gather round, and hear me!” Hercules broke free from Demeter and trotted on stumpy little legs towards Zeus’ open arms, gaining speed, and then finally embraced his father. Zeus scooped him up and spun him around, and only slightly winced at the grip his son had on him. Zeus smiled indulgently. “This! Is my son, my heir to Olympus, Hercules!” 

The crowd of immortals applauded politely, except Dionysus, who was drunkenly luxuriating on a nearby love seat.

“Hercules will spread his name far and wide, letting the worlds know of his strength, character and determination!!!” The crowd cheered wildly. Hera stepped closer, relishing the moment with her irresistible husband and promising child.

“We love you, Herc. We love you so much,” she said, just loud enough for only the three of them to hear. Hercules babbled, voice as melodious as any of the Muses, grip painful on a lock of her hair.

Zeus smiled fondly at the both of them. And then-

“SO! Who wants cake???!!!”


	3. How Painful Are Honest Words!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Niall Has A Good Idea and Zayn's Cricket Watching is Interrupted

“the truth was not known beneath the sky of stars,  
whether they were of heaven or of earth”  
-Lebor Gabála Érenn

 

Nineteen Years Later, Somewhere in Whitechapel, London

Zayn’s creature removal business, which, despite being wildly successful in the right circles, still doesn’t have a name even after four years. Though admittedly the recent city-wide thalweg infestation garnered him more of a reputation. 

“That’s what you should call it!” Niall exclaims over pints one bitterly cold November night. Zayn raises an eyebrow, doesn’t look away from the cricket match broadcast on flatscreens in ‘The Pride of Mullingar’ bar. It’s Pakistan vs. Sri Lanka and he’s been waiting for the Sri Lankans to get the crap beat out of them all season.

“You should call it Untitled!” Zayn can see Niall’s thrilled smile from the corner of his eye.

“That sounds like some fuckin' swanky Piccadilly book shop, mate,” Zayn takes an innocent sip of his Guinness as Pakistan snaps up another wicket. Niall’s smile comically melts into a look of confused despair; he sighs dramatically. “Ta. At least you get to have a business name. ‘M just, ORACLE.” He finishes with a dramatic hand flail.

Ten minutes later- “Everyone knows who the fuck you are, you self-absorbed tosser. That’s literally the point of the title.” Zayn offers during a commercial break. Niall pouts around his fifth pint.

“What happened to the sweet forgivin' Zayn I’ve known for half me life?”

“He left the building when Sri Lanka evened.” 

Niall shakes his head pityingly.

“People know who the Oracle is, they just don’t know where I am,” he moans. Zayn stares at a stain in the ceiling for a moment, then finally looks at Niall. His best friend’s blue eyes twinkle in the low light, the last gasping remains of his blonde dye-job contrasting sharply with the dark-brown hair beneath.

“You could change it, couldn’t yah? Somethin’ like, The Oracle of Mullingar? Has a ring to it,” Zayn takes a handful of peanuts while Niall gapes at him.

“You brilliant arsehole! I’m gonna go cast a Murmur right the bloody hell now,” Niall leaps out of his chair, takes a few steps, and promptly staggers into a table full of bridge trolls (engrossed in their poker game), clutching his head.

“Niall? Mate you alright?” Zayn rises from his chair, hand outstretched. The bridge trolls look at one another nervously. They knew full well, as they were regulars, what kind of trouble Niall brought on peoples’ heads. Zayn’s best friend turns around, movements oddly liquid and boneless, eyes dull and unseeing and covered in a film of silver.

“You’re having a vision, Niall, come on, come sit down,” Zayn says as he gently grasps Niall’s skinny wrist, even though he knows his friend can’t hear him. The entire pub is silent at this point, Reggie the bartender having muted the match, and every eye trained on Zayn and the Oracle.

“Te time is here. Prepare,” Niall’s hand grasps Zayn’s shoulder in an iron grip.

“Dinna lose sight of yerself. Hesitate, and all yeh e’er cared for ist lost. Te hands of fate close in upon you and shift te path of stars. Yeh have been warnt.” Niall’s accent always becomes more pronounced whenever he goes into a trance. Once, when he was very drunk, Niall told Zayn that he hoped it was the old Irish gods speaking through him. That maybe the gods had taken pity on him, giving him a gift to get him through life after everything that had happened. Or, the time when Niall was very, very drunk, it was a curse for not foreseeing the fate of his family.

After another disturbing ten seconds of staring at each other, the film over Niall’s eyes ebbs away, and his shoulders slump. The entire pub let out a collective breath, and Reggie unmutes the T.V., shaking their head, and giving them sympathetic glances.

“Quite honestly, I don’t know why they let you set up shop here,” Zayn grumbles as Niall slumps back into his chair, rubbing his forehead and smiling faintly.

“Because they all love me, don’t they,” Zayn’s friend replies absently, now massaging his temples. Zayn sighs, sits, and waves a hand at Shelley, one of the servers, for another round. He needs to be drunk for this kind of shit.

“So...was that one directed at me, or does the doomsday prophecy apply to everyone?” Zayn asks. Niall smiles wanly, giving a nod of thanks to Shelley who deposits their beer at the table.

“Yeah, Oracle, give us the scoop, eh?” they drawl, snapping bright green bubblegum, hands on voluptuous hips. Niall gives a shrug.

“You know as much as I do, pet. ‘S anyone’s game, innit?”

“Yeah, but, you were all, ‘starin’ into the depths of Zain’s eyes’ ‘n shit. What’s that about?” Shelley uses air quotes, eyebrow raised in a challenge. Niall shoots Zain a look, one of poorly concealed apprehension. It’s crossed Zayn’s mind, a time or two, that maybe being friends with Niall puts him in the crossfire of his friend’s gift more than a little. But Zayn figures he deals with monsters for a living. What’s more dangerous than that? 

“Well, if there’s any kind of shit comin’ down on my head, you bet your arse I’ll be here when it happens,” Zayn pronounces, and grins lasciviously at Shelley, who rolls their eyes. Niall’s shoulders relax a fraction, and Reggie yells from the bar for Shelley to get back to work. Zayn takes a generous gulp of beer, trying to shake the shivers still running down his spine.

“Sorry about the game, mate. I know you wanted to watch it in peace,” Niall mumbles into his drink, looking shifty. Zayn shakes his head.

“Mate, come on, we know Pakistan’s gonna win, we’re just that good. I needed something to liven up my night, yeah?” Niall’s shoulders finally relax completely.

“I know it’s like, the national sport or summat, but you cricketers are bloody odd.”

“Says the man from the country that invented golf,”

“That was fuckin’ Scotland and you know it,” Niall bristles.

 

Three hours later, and they both manage to stumble out of ‘The Pride of Mullingar’, far and beyond tipsy.

“Ey, mate...weren’t….weren’t you gonna conjure, somfin’? Like, somfin like murder?” Zayn manages to get out. Niall giggles into his neck from where he’s perched on Zayn’s back.

“I don’ need to conjure that, Zen, I make it happen everyday.” Niall hiccups in Zayn’s ear.

“Alright, thas’ it, you’re staying at mine. Too drunk.” Zayn decides, plodding along. He might be drunk as well, but his sense of self-preservation has always refused to let him pass out in the street. Also, the number of things he knows are crawling around London, especially at this time of night.

“Whatever yer thinkin’ of, ‘ll do it.........tomorrah.” Just as Niall manages to get out his last word, lightning forks across the sky, followed almost immediately by a thunderclap. Zayn’s head jerks up, surprised by the cloudy sky. The weather mage hadn’t predicted rain. And she was always right.

“Jaysus. ‘D be scared if I wern’t so pissed,” Niall drags out the ‘d’, then trails off into more giggles. Zayn tries to pick up his pace, the wind kicking up dead leaves and rubbish around his ankles.

“‘S weird. Weren’t supposed to have storms and things. Not ‘till next week,” Zayn grits out as another bolt of lightning splits the sky, this one lighting up the street in daylight brilliance. But still no rain. So, this is getting weird. Zayn’s definitely sober now, although he’s pretty sure Niall’s fallen asleep. Tosser.

“Almost there, Nialler,” he says to himself as more lightning breaks across the sky, the thunder almost continuous. Some of his hair has escaped its bun and his whipping around his face, but he can still see his apartment building’s witch globe, fiber optics glowing bright and comforting, a block away. Niall gives a small snore.

“For the love of the Morrigan....I can’t believe what I put up with.” Zayn mumbles as he staggers up the steps, trying not to drop his drunk best friend. He rests his forehead against the oak door, mutters the password, and promptly face-plants when the doors quickly swing open.

“What’d happening?” Niall blearily pushes himself up off of Zayn and looks around. Zayn doesn’t think his nose is broken, but if it is, Niall’s not getting any of his Chai latte in the morning. He groans and manages to roll out of the doorway, and the door slams closed, abruptly cutting off the ominous thunder mid crash.

“You’re staying with me tonight cause you’re being a right mopey bastard. But I’m not carrying you anymore.” Zayn tells him, gingerly feeling his nose. Niall squints at him, shrugs, and hauls himself to his feet.

“Yer too nice, anyb’dy tell yah that?” Niall asks him, in what he obviously thinks is a whisper, when in reality he’s probably waking up the entire building. Zayn shakes his head, slings Niall’s arm over his shoulder, and starts the slog upstairs. When they finally reach Zayn’s apartment he deposits Niall on the couch, heads to the kitchen, pausing to kick the recalcitrant radiator. His flat is really nothing to speak of. It was built in the 80s, smells like cooked cat hair, and does an alright job keeping him warm during the London winters. Filling a glass, he returns to the couch, where Niall has his face smushed into the armrest, drooling in his sleep. Zayn sighs and sets the cup down where his friend will see it in the morning and drapes a blanket over him.

“You don’t cause homicides, you idiot. You just--” Zayn sighs again, wishing he could take Niall’s guilt away.

“It’s not your fault.”

His friend snorts in his sleep, as though he’d heard Zayn’s speech. Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Work on that, would you? Get rid of ten years worth of guilt, all right?” He mutters sarcastically as he makes his way down the hall to his own narrow, but comfortable, bed. He can hear Miles scritching about in the bathroom as he passes, and hopes Niall won’t get his face clawed off when he stumbles in there to puke in the morning.

Collapsing onto his bed, Zayn’s instantly asleep when his head hits the pillow.


	4. But What Do Your Arguments Prove?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Niall Regrets Everything, and the Lost Son is Found.

He startles awake the next morning to the feeling of his tree alarm gently caressing his face, and the gentle murmur of water wreaking havoc on his bladder. The clock was a going away present from Ant, who’d laughed uproariously as Zayn had opened it: Zayn’s last three alarm clocks had met unfortunate ends in the last five years; Ant had correctly bet that Zayn wouldn’t hurt a living alarm clock, no matter how annoyed he was over having to get up.

“See mate, it’s got six settings, from ‘gentle caress and birdsong’ to ‘severe whipping and loud traffic’!”Zayn had given him a dark look and demanded his friend get him another slice of cake. While the clock was somewhat unsettling, it was nevertheless effective; a cute, innocent looking miniature willow tree enchanted to semi-sentience would awaken its owner in a ‘gentle, natural way’.

The other sound that woke him was the miserable noise of Niall being violently sick in the bathroom. And Miles making a noise like an angry teakettle. Zayn pats away the willow branches trying to curl up in his hair, which had fully come out of its bun during his sleep, and hauls himself out of bed. Realizing he hadn’t even taken his shoes off the night before, he grumbles to himself and plods to the loo.

“Y’alright in there?” 

Niall moans in response.

“Well I’m opening the door to let Miles out.”

“Please,” NIall replies with a whine. Zayn puts his back to the wall next to the door, and pulls the door open in one swift motion. The teakettle noise subsides to one of a badly tuned radio, and Zayn hears his pet ricochet off the hallway wall and skitter into the kitchen.

“Thank fuck. Shut the door.”

“I have to take a-”

“Go piss in the alley! You don’t want to do it here-” Niall chokes off with a groan and more vomiting. Zayn grimaces, and relents, gently shutting the door on his sick friend.

When he gets to the kitchen, Miles is perched on the sink, making a sound like a crackling fire. Draconauts are, by nature, fickle animals. Zayn adopted his from a hoard in an abandoned building he’d been hired to clear out. The poor beast had been a week old, half-drowned, infested with fire-mites, and couldn’t make a sound. 

Draconauts in general can’t make their own sound, but replicate noises they hear. Which meant Miles had been abandoned by their mother, otherwise they would have been able to make a few sounds by that age. While the rest of the animals were being loaded into a lorry to take to his annex in Brixton, Zayn had stared down at the pathetic creature, soundlessly opening and closing its jaws, still attempting to defend itself. And by the Prophet (peace be upon him), Zayn couldn’t resist seeing himself in that draconaut; that feeling of total helplessness and abandonment which seemed to plague him as he struggled to make a new life in the chaotic, dangerous city of London.

Draconauts are also helpful for his business, as it turns out. With the right temperament and the right training, Zayn can send them to reconnoiter what’s bumping in the night. When a draconaut returns, a simple command gets them to regurgitate whatever sounds they hear. When Zain figured this out, that was when his nights started ending with at least four hours of sleep instead of a trip to the E.R. or another hired hand quitting.

“You and that fucking bathtub. What is that about?” Zayn mutters as Miles flexes his two inch long claws in and out of his paws.

“Yeah yeah yah mean bastard. You’re scary, I got it.” A sound of nails on a chalkboard follows him as he leaves the apartment to use the building’s communal loo. After, he notices the sun is shining strong, throwing dazzling patterns on the atrium floor and making the mail slots gleam. Zayn finally thinks about the night before, and whether or not he should try his own seeing. Niall’s prediction and that storm last night...not omens easily ignored.

He steps out onto the stoop and listens to the quiet of the neighborhood around him. It couldn’t hurt to use it. If it will help him and Niall stay one step ahead of...whatever is coming, then it’s worth it.

“χαιρετισμούς Ήλπιζα ότι κάποιος θα προκύψουν from that large building but I wasn’t certain and-”

Zayn snaps his head around to locate the speaker and...oh.

“Do you believe you can help me?” The speaker isn’t much to look at.

“Can you understand me? Most people I address do not respond in my language.” Well, the person is a man. Zayn can recognize masculine pronouns in Greek (Zayn learned it fluently in his spare time in fifth form....he’d been bored) even if this boy’s version is very strange.

As the kid babbles away, Zayn takes a good look at him. From his light brown, incredibly messy curls, to the expressiveness of his eyebrows, to the, dare he say, adorable snub of his nose, to the intense pink of his lips and then....the guy’s shoulders. As Zayn looks, he realizes this beanpole looking boy is really closer to his own age.

“There are, people, strange people, following me, quickly can I please--” it’s the ‘please’ that snaps Zayn out of his trance of long, skinny thighs (exposed by a wonderfully short tunic), and expressive hands.

“Did Hades send you? Some kind of sick, annoying wake-up call?” Zayn gets out in his rusty Greek. The man looks startled at finally hearing someone speak his own language, albeit a strange dialect.

“The god of the dead?! Am I dead? Have I finally gone mad?! Was the portal just a trance, a dream?! Liam, wake up, wake up!” The man’s volume increases as he clutches handfuls of his curls and is hyperventilating.

“Okay, easy man, easy, I have no idea what kind of reality downers you’re on, but I’d really appreciate it if you--”

“WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE YOU ARE SPEAKING?!” The boy grabs Zayn by the shoulders, fingers cutting rather brutally into his flesh. Zayn’s about to really pull out his monster fighting moves, but then he gets a glimpse into Liam’s eyes.

They look lost.

Frightened.

Gentle.

Kind.

Familiar.

“Greek, man, I’m speaking modern Greek. Do you want me to call someb--”

“Hey you! You owe us for that table you destroyed!” Another voice shatters the quiet morning. Two individuals are making their rapid way towards Zayn and his new friend, and Zayn makes a decision.

“What seems to be the trouble?” He starts as the newcomers screech to a halt, panting.

“You fuckin’ heard me, we want compensation for the fucking table he broke! In my bar!” The angry pub owner somehow looms over both Zayn and Liam, although they’re a good four inches shorter than Zayn. Liam, as gangly and awkward as he is, manages to completely cower behind Zayn.

Well, what pub?”

“What you mean, what pub? I want my money!”

“How ‘bout you write down what pub, and for how much, and I’ll see you get compensated, alright? And look, you know where I live now, and my name’s Zayn. So come callin’ any time you like. Just, like, not right now.” And hopefully, he adds in his head, when Niall is around. So he can front him the cash.

The pub owner glowers at him, looking suspiciously around the street, as if memorizing the unobtrusive White Chapel lane. Then, digging into their pocket, the pub owner pulls out a memory marble.

“The name’s Devito. The pub’s called the Blinkered Nag. That table was hand carved and you owe me 600, in credit, by St. Andrew’s Feast Day. And you bet your ass I’ve got this address memorized.” The marble shakes and glows hot. Devito practically throws the thing at Zayn, who barely manages to catch it. With one final scowl, Devito and their muscled compatriot sweep away. Zayn sags in relief, but he can still feel Liam trembling where he’s clutching Zayn’s jacket sleeve.

“Thank you. I accidentally broke a table, I don’t know how, but I snapped it completely in half. Does this mean you will help me?” Liam says quietly, obviously trying to keep his voice from shaking. Zayn turns to face him, but Liam’s staring at the ground, scuffing a well-worn and many-times-mended sandal against the ground solar panel.

“My name’s Zayn. Do you want me to…..contact someone for you?” He’s not sure if Liam would know what to make of a telephone, as Zayn is developing a creeping suspicion that Liam really isn’t from around here. As in, this time period.

It happens, sometimes. London is such an ancient city, inundated with quantum anomalies, psychic links, tears in the fabric of the universe...sometimes people, or things, fall through. More than a few sessions of Parliament have been disrupted by multiple Margaret Thatchers, all from different timelines, all of them yelling. But Liam’s not a prime minister or an alien; Liam feels...close. Like, Zayn knows this face, knows that mess of curls.

“I....no. Perhaps. Do you--” Liam starts, but Zayn cuts him off, struck by his realization.

“That’s where I know you from! But that’s…..that’s just too much, no way. No way!” it's finally clicked, and Zain feels like he’s been electrocuted: jolted into life and numbed all in one go.

For months, every scrying glass, T.V., conjuring mirror, computer screen, even in the reflection of store windows, Zayn’s been seeing glimpses of Liam’s face. Never anything too concrete or definite, just the flash of a smile, or a sliver of his curls or a flicker of his eyes, but Liam’s been there. Zayn had thought he just kept seeing the tail end of a missing persons announcement. But now that Liam is here...

“Fuck. Yeah, I think you should come inside. Come meet Niall.” Zayn mutters feverishly to himself. Liam is looking nervous again, startled by Zayn’s outburst, but he follows him inside.

When they return to Zayn’s flat, Niall’s lying face down on the couch, with Miles perched on his back, humming away like a well-tuned radiator. Which, Zayn honestly doesn’t know where they got that noise, as his radiator has never worked and hates him.

“What is that?” Liam whispers, sounding torn between anxiety and fascination.

“Uh, Miles, or Niall?” Zayn quirks an eyebrow. Niall groans into the couch cushion.

“Both.” Liam whispers again.

“Whoever yah are, I’d get up, but this arse on top of me would probably tear my spine out. I’m Niall, resident Oracle. Pleased ta meet yah.” Niall says around a mouthful of couch cushion. Liam looks at Zayn uneasily.

“What was spoken? What is that strange beast?” Liam asks, still in a whisper. Zayn has to take a moment before speaking.

“That animal is a draconaut. Mine. Their name is Miles.” it’s hard to come up with a reference that’s gender free, but Zayn tries. Liam looks even more lost.

Niall’s head jerks up immediately when he hears the Greek leaving Zayn’s mouth.

“And that freeloading lump underneath Miles is Niall, the Oracle, and my best friend. Um, do you, want tp sit? Something to drink?”

“Bloody hell, if I knew you were bringing up suitors, I’d ah put on a shirt. Or, stolen one of your shirts!” Niall protests, staring narrowly at Liam.

“Niall, this is Liam. Um, I met him ten minutes ago, but I think we all three need to have a chat.” He waits until Liam’s awkwardly taken a seat in a leaking, sagging bean-bag chair that Maria, waitress extraordinaire at 'The Pride of Mullingar’, had given him as a housewarming gift. Zayn hurries into the kitchen to avoid the deafening silence, broken only by Miles cooing like a pigeon. After hastily putting together a few glasses of water and grabbing his tablet, he goes back into the living room.

Miles is now perching on Liam’s knee, still cooing, Liam looking cautiously optimistic.

“They like you. Here’s some water.” Zayn tells him, handing him the glass. Zayn sits on the couch with Niall, who snatches the other glass out of his hand and gulps the water down, and starts downloading a translating app. The Engram Holographic Tablet, or just Engram, was also a going away present, this one from his baba. 

“Care to explain what the fuck language this bloke is speaking?” 

Zayn grimaces. “Ancient Greek.”

“Ah.” Niall says contemplatively. Zayn watches Niall watch Liam, and he can see the curiosity written all over Niall’s face.

“Yeah. This is where everything goes sideways. Um, so, for the past couple months I’ve been seeing him? No, not like that!” Zayn exclaims as Niall opens his mouth gleefully. It snaps shut in a pout.

“You haven’t dated anyone since-”

“Can we not do this right now? We have a problem,” the app finally finishes downloading, and Zayn chooses English to Greek and vice-versa, and hopes the phrasing won’t be too weird for Liam to understand.

“Liam? Can you understand me?” Liam perks up expectantly; the app takes a moment, then out pops a small hologram of a gender-ambiguous person. Liam doesn't jump, but the look of abject horror on his face is absolutely hilarious. When the hologram spits out Zayn’s phrase in almost perfect modern Greek, Liam isn’t pleased. He struggles unsuccessfully to get away from the tablet, sucked in by the beanbag chair and Miles aggressively cuddling him.

“What is this voice?!” he shouts. Niall startles too, and stares at Liam like he’s a madman.

“Liam, it’s okay. This device takes my words in my language and translates them into something you can understand.” He taps the off button for a moment to tell him. Liam stares suspiciously at him and Niall.

“You’ve never seen a hologram before?” Niall asks belligerently. Before Liam can formulate a response, the tablet spits out a translation again. Liam tenses.

“Trust me, it won’t hurt you.” Zayn wants to kick himself as soon as he says that. How many times has he heard that phrase and instantly mistrusted the speaker? How many times had he heard a client say that only to end up cornered in a broom closet by a very angry Cwn Annwn? How many times had Rosie said that and then-

Zayn cuts that train of thought off when he sees Liam nod slowly.

“I do. What language are you speaking?” he asks brusquely, obviously trying to cover his embarrassment. The hologram gives an approximate translation, good enough that Niall can understand.

“English, mate. Just where are you from? And what do you mean, you’ve been seeing him?” Niall directs this last remark at Zayn, who takes a deep breath.

“I am from near Acharnae. And I have never heard of, English. But, I suppose that would make sense. Can I tell you my story?” the translator struggles to keep up, but Niall seems to be understanding fine.

“Please. Slowly.” Zayn says in Greek.

“My village is a really small place. I’m an only child. Well, I thought I was. Anyway. A few days ago, I….got into some trouble in my village. I was clumsy and careless and...it doesn’t matter. My...guardian,” here Liam looks visibly shaken, that one word seemingly pulling all of his anxieties to the forefront.

“He suggested that I go to Zeus’ temple, which is a few days’ walk from the village, to give myself some time to think about what I want to do. With my life. When I got there I,” Liam pauses again, licking his lips. He does have nice lips, Zayn thinks absently, the rest of him waiting on tenterhooks.

“Well go on, what happened to yah?” Niall breaks in impatiently. Once Liam understands what he’s been asked, he flushes and stammers on.

“I don’t want you to think I’m crazy, but....seeing all of the magic you have, perhaps you’ll believe me. When I was at the temple, Zeus spoke to me.” Liam stops, staring at the both of them. Niall and Zayn look at each other.

“And....what did he tell you?” Zayn presses. Liam blinks rapidly, so dumbfounded he doesn’t even notice Miles stealthily kneading their claws into his thigh.

“You...you believe me?” At this point, Niall is upright and at full attention, fingers fumbling over themselves and foot tapping against the floor. He never can sit still when something exciting is about to happen.

“Yes, for the love of the saints above just tell us!” Niall commands, making Liam flinch again.

“Alright! Zeus told me I was his son. His heir. That, my real name, is Hercules.” The room goes dead silent after the translator gets out the last few words.

“Holy hell. What the fuck are yeh doin’ in Whitechapel? And again, how the fuck do yeh not know English?!” Niall scrubs his hands through his hair, knee jiggling restlessly. Zayn can only stare at...Liam? Hercules? The guy in front of him doesn’t look much like the son of a god but, Niall doesn’t look much like an Oracle, either. Liam is studiously petting Miles, seemingly over his aversion to the draconaut.

“And, he said, the time had come, for me to regain my godly powers, and to come to this place. He didn’t really explain a whole lot, just, something about a prophecy? And, that I was actually going to the future? After that, it was a lot of lightning and some kind of portal, and then I was here.” Liam/Hercules trails off.

“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this is the year of 2123, and you are in London, England, and gods aren’t exactly all that surprising around here.” Niall says faintly. The translator hologram remains smugly silent, so Zayn repeats Niall’s words.

“That is why you so flippantly mentioned the god of the dead?” Liam inquires at Zayn cautiously.

“Yeah.” glancing to Niall- "Um, about the whole, ‘seeing’ him thing? For the past couple months, I’ve been seeing Liam’s face in scrying glasses and T.V. screens and pop up ads, other stuff. It never really registered, I thought he was one of those subliminal advertisements or something!” Zayn explains hastily as Niall glares at him.

“Yah didn’t think this might be important to tell me? Sometimes I wonder if you’re smart enough to survive being my friend!” Niall whacks Zayn on the shoulder, and Zayn yelps.

“Fuck off! It was subliminal! That means you don’t consciously realize shit, you wanker. Don’t make me sit on you!” With more incoherent yelling, that’s exactly what happens until Niall threatens to projectile vomit all over their ‘guest’. Zayn extracts himself from Niall and huffily sits back down. Liam is nervously chewing on a fingernail.

“I do not understand the significance of this,” Liam says.

“I’m the Oracle. As in The Oracle, the title.” Niall says flatly, not a trace of pride or humility; just, that it’s a fact. It makes Zayn sad. Liam squints skeptically.

“You don’t look it. Only women can be the Oracle.” Liam says, in a haughty voice that Zayn can’t help but find endearing. Niall throws up his hands.

“Amazin’. Me existence is even a disappointment to people from three thousand years ago. How bout this-you don’t look like a fuckin’ god, or demi-god, or whatever!” Niall snaps back. Liam looks contrite.

“I promise, Liam, Niall is the Oracle. He had a Trance last night, and, it was basically a doomsday prophecy. And then you fall out of the sky, talking about a different prophecy. It’s a bit worrying, you understand,” Zayn says gently.

“But, what do we do now? What is there to do? If we don’t know the prophecy, I can never do...whatever I’m supposed to!” Liam looks near to hyperventilating again, so Zayn intercedes hastily.

“Slow down, mate, one thing at a time. You can’t exactly, go home. Yet. So, we get you some better shoes, a translator, and I’m guessing some food would be good?” Zayn soothes him. Liam deflates and nods sadly. Niall shakes his head, but quickly stops.

“This is mental. I need to go clean meself up, cast that Murmur, and see what I can suss out of the Flames. You two stay here, and DON’T do anything brainless.” Niall stands and points threateningly at Zayn.

“Oh, babe, I love it when you get all controlling like that,” Zayn simpers bitterly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Liam flush.

“Feed your squatter and try to teach your draconaut manners. I’ll be back later.” Niall assures him as he shrugs on his jacket and slams his way out the door. Zayn and Liam avoid looking at each other for the first few moments but Zayn caves, knowing he has to do his mum and baba proud by being a good host.

“So, um, are you, hungry?” Zayn ventures, hoping Liam says yes so his guest can stuff their face instead of talking. Which makes Zayn realize he hasn’t had breakfast yet, and his business is opening in a few hours, so whether or not Liam is hungry, Zayn has to get to work on his morning.

“Um, yes. What do you have?” Liam looks up swiftly from where Miles is now curled in his lap. Zayn has to think for a moment about what a Greek peasant slash demi-god from before the Common Era would want to break his fast. Liam looks hopeful and far more relaxed, eager even. Zayn takes a moment to look around, feeling out how much Liam feels like he belongs here, fits in Zayn’s apartment.

“Bread. Uh, juice, I could fry or scramble some eggs,” Liam makes a deeply puzzled face, obviously not understanding the concept of fried and scrambled eggs. Zayn gets up and strides into the kitchen to avoid thinking about how cute it is. He hears Liam stand and follow him.

“How do you scramble eggs?” Zayn smiles and feels a little delighted in being able to introduce someone to the joys of modern breakfast.

“I’ll show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we have three out of.....a lot of main characters! let us know what you think in the comments. or go to formerlyknownasonedirectionn.tumblr.com


	5. Do You Mean to Correct What I Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Planning Is Done and Liam Is Paid A Visit

When Niall finally returns, a bag of donuts in hand, and a grim look on his face, Liam is giggling over the frying pan carefully being managed by Zayn, who quickly discovered that his guest is rather a menace when handed cooking utensils and has an unhealthy fascination with the ancient gas stove. Despite this, they had a grand time, Zayn showing how the different tools worked and Liam sharing funny stories of how his friend’s mum couldn’t cook to save a life.

“I’m not exactly sure what I’m seeing here,” Niall drawls as he shrugs off his coat. Zayn glances up at Niall’s entrance, but instead comes face to face (almost literally) with Liam, who blinks owlishly at him.

“Erm, breakfast. The eggs almost done. Thanks for the donuts. Liam, do you want to try one?” Zayn’s brain is getting a workout with all of this translation. Liam has since turned to watch Niall and his bag of greasy carbs.

“What are they made of?”

“Round bread fried in grease in different flavors.” Zayn replies. Liam picks up the bag and sniffs gingerly, then sits at the table with one in hand.

“So, I cast the Murmur. More importantly I talked to some of my contacts about if they saw anything last night. One of them said they saw,” here Niall glances discreetly at Liam, who’s ecstatically munching on a cinnamon sugar donut.

“Get spit out of a portal somewhere over by Brixton,”

“That’s quite a hike.”

“Well, he is a god with super strength apparently, that he doesn’t know how to control. So, I’m suspectin’ that wasn’t so tough. But even more importantly, some of them saw your uh, ex-employer, poking about Daze,” Niall looks worried, and Zayn tries not to immediately tense at the second mention of his previous employer in one morning. Generally he likes to reserve thinking about Hades when he’s trying not to come too soon, or reminding himself during a job that there are far worse things than being chased through the sewers by a giant rat.

“Why is Daze such a big deal? That shit-hole has been corrupting people practically before the street under it was built,” Zayn replies brusquely, turning back to the pan of eggs, and carefully giving them a poke.

“Will the dash eggs be finished soon?” Liam interjects cheerfully, obviously unaware of the serious turn Niall and Zayn’s conversation has taken.

“Just a few more minutes,” Zayn replies gently. Niall raises an eyebrow.

“Anyway, you and I know very well the nasty connections that place has, even for a devil. Besides, the high streets tell me there hasn’t been any major altercations or incursions by him in almost twenty years.” Niall has a very special relationship with the architecture of London. Hell, Niall has a special connection to almost everything in London. The city was built for him and the power he channels, and Niall was born for the city and the powers of the other side. So the sidewalks, alleys, car-parks, roads,statues and bas reliefs will tell him the secrets and history of the goings-on of the metropolis. Very few other people have cultivated the skill, patience, and charm to do this.

“So him going to a place like Daze? That doesn’t bode well for anyone. Let’s do a recap here,” Niall sticks out a finger, and Zayn loads the eggs onto three different plates.

“Get the Engram translator first.” Zayn admonishes. Niall disappears, then returns with the computer. Zayn loads the table with the eggs, and Liam smiles at him. Which, really doesn’t make Zayn squirm internally. Not at all.

“Am I going to enjoy this? What should I expect?” Liam asks very seriously, poking at the eggs with his finger. Zayn can’t help but smile.

“Just dive right in.” Zayn encourages. Liam pouts, but pops a hunk of the dish into his mouth and chews thoughtfully.

“Well?” Zayn prompts, irrationally concerned about his egg-scrambling prowess. Niall mutters something rude into his donut which Zayn doesn’t acknowledge.

“It’s....light, fluffy. It’s…okay. I enjoyed the donut more,” Niall winks at Liam and elbows Zayn in the side. Zayn can only sigh.

“Please do not take offense! Let me try some more!” Liam exclaims hastily, shoving a handful into his mouth.

“We’re gonna have to fix that,” Niall mutters again. This time though, the translator picks up on his words. Liam freezes mid-chew.

“Fix what? Am I doing something wrong?” Liam says around his mouthful of eggs. Zayn rubs his forehead.

“Do you like the eggs more now?” Zayn says, trying to distract his guest, Liam glances between them, then nods slowly.

“Yes, but I feel we have words that need speaking. So, speak them.” It’s as if a steel door has slammed shut behind Liam’s eyes, leaving his face impassive, yet dangerous looking. Zayn looks at Niall, who seems slightly disturbed by this change in demeanor.

“So, I feel we should tell yeh a few things about the future, alright?” Liam nods as the translator spits out Niall’s words.

“Here, in the future, gods aren’t quite the big deal they are in your time. Matter of fact, gods are less godly and more...how can I put this.....commercial.” Niall says slowly. It’s an accurate summation, but Zayn wonders what it feels like, to have something you view as holy walk the earth like any other creature. Zayn’s own father is… well, perhaps not god-like but powerful nonetheless. Too bad Zayn didn’t happen to inherit any of that.

“Com-mer-chall?” Liam manages to stutter the foreign word out, brow creased adorably. What the hell, Zayn won’t lie anymore. Liam’s entire face is kind of adorable.

“It’s, like, um....your, uh, father,” Zayn gets out, and Liam twitches violently at the last word.

“Okay, Zeus, and Hera run half the fashion industry. As in, they own a business. They aren’t really worshipped in the way that you worshipped them. They’re liked and respected because they can make money,” Zayn can’t help but let his lip twist in a sneer. Liam looks even more confused.

“Are you understanding us?” Niall tries again. Liam nods slowly.

“I suppose, I am just....disappointed. My father, my, adoptive father? Told me that Zeus would help make all my problems go away.” Liam sighs. Niall guffaws.

“Well, if you need money, that’s certainly one way he can fix your problems,” Niall snorts as he scoops up a forkful of eggs. Liam looks even sadder than when Zayn first saw him.

“Anyway, so, Hades, he’s the same way. Except, he trafficks drugs, and people, and magic. He’s still pretty horrifically evil, so you should probably still be afraid of him,” Niall manages around his mouthful of eggs. Zayn stares down at his plate, and he can feel Liam’s eyes on him, but he can’t bring himself to return the gaze. This whole situation is starting to feel terrifically tense and so very, very sad.

But, what had Niall said the night before? Hesitate, and all you ever cared for is lost. 

“Niall’s vision, your arrival, Hades acting strangely, this is all adding up to the fact that something big is about to happen. What we are going to do about it, I don’t know.” Zayn finally looks up at Liam, who is frowning thoughtfully down at his plate.

“I am not fully understanding how you describe....Zeus. Perhaps, if I could meet him, and Hera, things would be more clear? And yes, your currency may expedite the plan I have in mind.” Liam finally returns Zayn’s gaze, more confidently than he’s seen before. For a split second, Zayn can almost imagine how Liam would look, as a god.

Niall is nodding slowly.

“Yer right, that would be a smart place to start. Maybe today, you and Zayn--”

“Oh no, ‘you and Zayn’ nothing, I have to open shop today. Tomorrow will work fine.” Zayn cuts across Niall, panic swelling in his gut. Something about Liam is just getting under his skin, making his brain work strangely, making his nerves act up. He needs his breathing space.

Niall rolls his eyes, and shovels more eggs into his mouth. Liam’s face is red again.

“I didn’t-- it’s just--i really do need to work today. But, but there’s enough time, I can get you some things you’ll need, maybe show you around--”

“Well what if you just take him to work with you?” it’s Niall’s turn to cut Zayn off. Zayn glares at him.

“I would like to see where you work, what kind of work you do,” Liam interjects hesitantly, blush still staining his cheeks.

“Well--well--okay.” Zayn relents nervously. He knows plenty could go wrong, but despite the fact, he’s curious as to what Liam will think of the monsters of London.

“First, I’ll go get those things, that you need. Niall, if I could talk to you for a second? In the lounge? Alone?” Zayn gets out in clipped tones, first turning off the Engram translator.

“I’ll be back soon, Liam. Enjoy the eggs.” He throws at his guest; snatching up his coat, he stalks into the next room, with a protesting Niall.

“Look, I agree, we should help this guy out, but don’t you think this is a bit exces--”

“Zayn Javaad Malik, don’t be a knob, alright? Just, go with it. It’ll be probably for a week, two weeks at the most. I’ll keep him happy here, you go get your chai and mope for a little bit,” Niall rolls his eyes and shoos Zayn out the door.

The last thing he hears is “Liam! Mate, d’you know poker?” as the door swings shut behind him.

 

Vitoria hates the glasshouse at this hour. The rest of Fitzrovia won’t open for another hour, the furnaces glowing; they cast too much contrast in the room, dark and blue and gloomy at the ceiling, too bright and unrelenting near the floor. Vitoria doesn’t do black and white.

Like the witchglass. It’s not totally magic, not totally tech. Well, to be specific, it’s a lot of sweat and blood and tears. All the finesse, artistry, and painstaking care of glassblowing mixed with the rigidity and precision that nanotechnology requires.

Vitoria does have to admit, she’s a little excited for this morning. Willy is going to show her how to put nanobots inside an orb. A standard witchglobe, a special conductive gel, the little beasts, and voilá, your own programmable, universal home remote.

She hopes Zayn will get to the Menagerie (the fanciful name given to the shop that Willy claims was zir uncle’s dying wish) with some coffee before she has to get started. Willy has a strict ‘no food’ rule in place.

At that moment, a sharp rap on the door startles Vitoria out of her thoughts. It’s Zayn, looking incredibly harassed, with two cups of coffee. Despite his obvious agitation, he manages to look incredibly styled, shoulder-length black hair shoved messily into a ponytail and-

“Weren’t you wearing that yesterday?” Vitoria can’t help but ask as she steps outside into the alley behind the Menagerie. Zayn’s scowls at her.

“You don’t get your coffee until you apologize.” He grumbles, hugging both to-go cups to his chest.

“Well, I’m sorry you agreed to get drunk with Niall, like every other weekend. I guess,” Vitoria scoffs, and holds out a hand for her drink. Zayn drops the scowl and hands her the beverage.

“So what are you and Willy planning on today?” Zayn asks after a long sip of coffee. Vitoria immediately perks up.

“How to incorporate nanobots with the globes.” She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. Zayn smiles a nose-crinkling smile.

“Hey Zayn,” a soft voice interrupts from inside the workshop. Vitoria has to turn her laugh into a cough as Zayn chokes on his chai latte. Willy has that effect on most people.

“Hey, uhm, hi. Willy. The shop looks, very, nice.” Zayn manages to stutter out. Willy nods gently in return, then goes back to puttering around the space. Once, Vitoria teased him about when he was finally going to set about ‘wooing zir royal highness, Willy Cartier’. Zayn had frowned peevishly and replied ‘I don’t date non-humans anymore. Never again.’ Vitoria had been taken aback. ‘Zayn you are a-’ she had started to say, but stopped when Zayn’s shoulders went tense. That particular conversation seemed to be over. Permanently.

“Well that’s my--” Vitoria starts to say.

“Wait I need to tell you something.” Zayn interrupts Vitoria with a sudden rush of words. Vitoria really can’t guess at what her best friend is about to tell her. He gets this way about anything, from how his business is going, if Pakistan is losing to India, he lost his sixth Engram phone to a fight with a ghoul. To be fair, she really isn’t expecting anything he says next.

“So, Li-Hercules. Like, the missing son of Zeus. He’s not lost anymore. He’s sitting in my apartment right now.” For a moment, Vitoria can only blink at Zayn. Then:

“Oh, my-I-shit. What? What the hell?! How??” She manages to get out. 

“He was on my doorstep this morning, asking for help because he broke a pub table in half, and he didn’t understand how.” The last part is an angry hiss, Zayn’s eyes rather manic. Vitoria stares at him again for a moment before being able to put her words together.

“You’re telling me he’s supposed to, like, do something important, being a god, and he doesn’t even know how or why he can do what he can do,” she says carefully. Zayn puts a hand over his eyes.

“Look, I’ll come over after work, before you go on for the night, and I’ll meet...Hercules…” She has to pause for a moment in wonder. Everyone knows the legend of the only god ever to be misplaced. But not how he was found. Is found? By Zayn Malik, of all people.

Zayn twitches a little at the name.

“He um, he actually goes by Liam.”

“Okay, I’m going to go work. I will see you and...Liam...tonight.” Vitoria says faintly. Zayn nods vigorously, as if agreeing with her that they just need to forget about the whole thing for an hour or so.

She turns and hurries into the workshop as Zayn marches smartly down the alley. Willy’s gorgeous locks stir in the breeze caused by the shutting door.

“Everything alright?” Ze asks, not taking his eyes off the supergel he’s measuring out.

“Yup. Still afraid to ask you out.” She returns without missing a beat. Willy smirks.

“Honestly, I hope you win the betting pool and Zayn asks me to dinner. That man needs a good night out,” her boss responds innocently. Vitoria opens her mouth, then closes it. No use denying the whole shop has bets on who will ask whom first. 

“So, measure a cup of these nanobots out. We’re starting out simple: these only detect motion, so all we need to worry about is the ratio of gel to bots to glass.” Willy instructs, pointing out each ingredient. Vitoria nods and picks up the case of bots.

The two work in silence for several minutes, until Vitoria has to ask.

“Hey, Willy, can I ask you something?” she says. Ze hums quietly, all of zir energy focused on the bronze fiber optic wiring going around a sea-glass green witchglobe.

“Did you know Zeus and Hera…..before? Like, before now. Like, waaaaay back when.” She keeps working, knowing Willy will respond when zir ready.

“I don’t…..they’re not my kind of crowd. I may run a business, but I’m not looking to use my massive stockpile of wealth to buy more stockpiles of wealth rather than helping the poor, you know?” Ze says mildly.

“Thank fuck for that.” Vitoria says bluntly. Willy smiles.

“And that is why you are my favorite, ‘Toria.”

 

Zayn’s fairly certain this question has been asked a multitude of times on Reddit, but no one’s asked it where he’s going to ask it. Rosie (a.k.a nana buluku) had shown him probably the darkest deepest part of the internet underworld. Which is where he is going now.

Zayn is hunched over his laptop, in his office freezing cold, because this converted warehouse is useless.

Zayn stares morosely at the laptop. Yes, he still has a laptop. The whole enterprise uses laptops because they can’t afford Engram boards and desks yet. But one day. Soon.

Finally the computer stops whirring and buzzing and an ancient mozilla firefox search page comes up. Zayn navigates the page, entering a couple lines of access code when he needs to, until finally finding the right thread.

'I need information about Olympus Industries, from the inside. Asking for a very special friend. Can be anonymous.'

Zayn squints at the screen and decides that the question is cryptic enough to garner attention on Reddit. A click, and it's posted. He sits back and contemplates the rather shady and dubious individuals he's no doubt exposed himself to, and can't help but smirk a bit. This is way more exciting than teaching a bunch of feisty grammar school kids.

He nearly hits the ceiling as Jerry bursts in, hair in one of his usual geometric arrangements and dark skin velvety under the fluorescent lights.

"Hey man, how's it going, god I wish we had new Engrams huh? So uh, you might wanna hot-foot it over to the Community Center, that cracker down there's gettin' antsy and irritated. By the way, two of the EMF detectors are broken." In classic Jerry style, his way of talking is just one long, blunt, run-on sentence. Zayn cringes every time; Americans are unbelievable.

Zayn can't respond for a moment, clutching his chest and trying to regain his equilibrium.

"Yeh scared me man! Don' do that!" he finally says, subtly deleting his internet history and ex-ing out of the window without breaking eye contact with Jerry, who shrugs.

"Oh, sorry. But, about what I said?" Jerry looks only a little apologetic, but that's his way. Zayn stands and gestures Jerry to follow him.

"If you can get Tiwatope to fix them, great, if not, scrap it and sell whatever can be sold. I'll go over to the Community Center, threaten that asshole with the BPRD if she doesn't stop." Zayn sighs, tugging at his ponytail. Jerry nods enthusiastically.

"Yeah, you tell 'er boss. She can't discriminate like that!" Jerry says reprovingly. Zayn gives him a look.

"Agreed. Don't call me boss. I'll see you tonight." Zayn throws over his shoulder as he leaves. Jerry gives him a sunny grin and yells "Tiwatope! You ready for this?" Zayn doesn't hear her reply, already steeling himself for dealing with an angry Community Director and the unflappable Papa Legba.

 

After playing several hands of poker with Niall, and Niall proclaiming that he was a “naturl at it” and “you’ll be stealin’ from bridge trolls in no time!” they quit so Niall can find them some more food because A) they had eaten all the eggs and doughnuts and B) Zayn doesn't exactly keep his fridge well stocked at any time, and he hadn’t been expecting a long term house guest. 

For now, Liam is sitting in the main room of the apartment with the strange cooing beast and his own thoughts. The room has a recessed space where the couch sits, with a decent sized window looking out at the alley below and the rooftops. It feels as though a chimney became a room and never forgot that it used to be a chimney - tall and narrow, disproportionate and dimensionally impossible; Liam imagines magic must have something to do with it. Built in,”floating” wall shelves reach all the way to the ceiling holding books, rocks,wandering vines and plants in pots, small religious figurines and various ephemera. The room gives the impression of sunlight coming in from the ceiling without any window above. The bean bag and the shabby couch seem out of place as does the intricately carved, heavy wood coffee table and large floor rug, but the room is content, like someone happily humming to themselves. 

Liam tries to soak in this happy calm, breathing deeply and closing his eyes, thinking and not thinking, wishing he felt more sure of his plan. 

“Hallo...uh m’here, so sorry I’m late.” Drawls a slow low voice, coming from the direction of the bean bag chair.  
Liam sighs in relief and opens his eyes. 

Sitting cross legged, hovering 5 inches above the bean bag in a pale yellow toga, a long haired green eyed muse smiles gently. “was worried about you for a moment there, but you seem to have done well for yourself Liam”  
“I could’ve done with some help you know.” grumps Liam but smiling despite himself as the muse unfolds their long lanky figure and floats in a pantomime of walking over to the couch to sit down next to him. Their yellow toga has a bright floral pattern that fades in and out of existence, like gentle morse code, giving them an even more ethereal appearance.  
As they settle in Liam says “What is it today oh muse?”. They grin cheekily, in response, chuckling-  
“Today for all your muse needs, it’s he, me, myself, Harry!” -singsonging the name for emphasis. 

“Well Harry, I would like to know where all the rest of you lot were, when I was falling out of the sky, in the midst of a lightning storm without Loki and without any sort of idea where he might be! And now I have broken property and been taken in by these strangers and this odd beast,” gesturing to Miles who has somehow discovered Harry, despite the muse’s semi-corporeal existence only visible to Liam, and is making a noise like a maraca shake and attempting to climb into where Harry’s lap should be. “And the gods are not all right and there is prophecy and I just...this is not how it was supposed to happen!” he finishes in frustration.

Harry has begun nodding emphatically in the midst of this barrage, brushing long brown locks out of his face, and arranging his face into loving concern. He makes a gesture as if straightening out a crick in his back and instead becomes more real, more part of the room. Miles honks like a happy bicycle horn and settles down across Harry’s lap. Liam looks expectantly waiting for his muse guardian to explain himself. “Well?”

“Wellll...” 

“Yes?” 

“The rest should be here any moment now. We had an uhm, hold up. There was something with.. Medusa and we ah had to handle it. But now I’m here, and you’re alright so.” And the muse’s face brightens at the end and he pats Liam’s hand reassuringly. When Liam just stares, face a mixture of hope and fond exasperation, Harry does an exact impression of Niall- “tat’s good innit?” Which makes Liam laugh despite himself, the first time he has belly laughed in days. 

Suddenly Liam can sense a familiar warm feeling in his chest and can hear the front door to the apartment building rattling, and he can hear the sniffing and snorting, and the rasping of fur against wood. 

“There he is!” Liam joyfully shouts, jumping from the couch and from a distance can be heard a deep, slightly insane, but joyful bark. Miles bristles but a soothing scratch behind the ears from Harry quiets him. 

“Up here Loki up here!”

Pointing towards the window with his free hand, Harry opens the window, and Liam leans his head out, in time to see a large white shape zip past him up towards the roof. “No down here you idiot, I’m down here!” Liam laughs gleefully.

Loki is a dog the size of a horse and Zayn’s window is small, but the window expands to accommodate Loki who knocks Liam to floor, slobbering on his face, and his tail wagging all but breaking the coffee table in half. 

Miles makes a noise like a smaller dog and Loki is momentarily distracted by daintily sniffing the top of the smaller creature’s head. 

“I’m not sure Harry, I think Loki may need to be smaller now, he is so easy to spot. I don’t want anything to happen to him” Liam’s brow is furrowed with concern. Harry gives a small salute, and gestures at the massive, black and white monstrosity. Without any alarm or concern, Loki begins to dwindle and shrink. In a moment, he stands waist high to a (very tall) man. Liam beams. Harry beams right back.

Suddenly a sound that had not been pronounced before, the sound of water rubbed around the rim of a glass, begins to amplify, along with the sound of feminine voices. Anticipating their arrival with excitement and a small dash of terror, Liam scans the small room, waiting for the rest of the Muses to materialize. They do not disappoint.

“I have told her, for the last 500 years, that that island and entire nation are under MY protection. MINE. And wha she keep doin'? Terrorizing them when she think I ain’t lookin'. Messin' around like she think I don’ know. Well I hope that bitch happy cause she’s the one who gets to be terrorized for the next 1000 years for fucking wit me and mine!” the last word punctuated by feet landing on the wooden coffee table, scattering the lighters and pens littering it. 

“Me” is a dark bronze, slender, medium height woman with long jet black hair in a high ponytail,decked in rings and bracelets, short satin pink toga, legs for days and a face that most of humanity would be delighted to see as they died, which often, they did. 

Liam is still trying to make sense of the Muses, categorize them, making sure he stays on their good sides- they are his guides after all. Ri, or Urania, is their leader and she smiles viciously at Liam as she steps off the coffee table, turning back to look at the Muse who follows behind. 

“Oh absolutely, you warned her, the deal was done with Poseidon so he would have backed you anyway and now she’s trapped in mirrors so that’s perfect I think,” pronounces the blonde, who awkwardly steps down from the coffee table, clumsy despite being mostly transparent still. She snuggles in next to Harry, giving a dazzling wide grin at Liam and arranging her white floor length chiffon toga around her. “I’m glad that nice boy will help you replace the table you broke Liam, we don’t want you to start off your time here on the wrong foot.”

Cackling laughter seems to come from thin air, but then from a dark wavy haired muse who is petite with large doll-like eyes. 

“Of course he broke a table! He broke his school building dinnit ‘e? he’s still a cutie though!” She’s hover-sitting a foot above Liam’s head and reaches down to pinch his cheek as he shoots her a squinty eyed grin. Instead of a toga she is wearing a tunic that has lightening shooting across it, much like the lightning storm Liam fell through.  
Jesy has made it a point to loudly declare how handsome Liam is since they met, reminding Liam of all his mother’s sisters fawning over him when they came to visit. 

“Ohhh but I quite like the dark haired one, didn’t you see him?” croons an art history book on a low shelf, that flips open and releases a purple cloud that solidifies into Perrie, with Jade following close behind, who snorts at the purple haired muse’s comment, and rolls her eyes but never stops her continuous tapping on something Liam thinks may be called a “fone”. Zayn and Niall both have one of them. 

“What, Jade, you don’t like my brown puddles for eyes and my flowing black hair?” says Zayn’s voice from the kitchen, as he strolls out into the living space, wearing a formal black and gold toga, theatrically flipping his hair back and posing, making the rest of the girls giggle, and Liam blush furiously while attempting to hide his face behind a throw pillow so that no one will notice. Miles squawks like an angry budgerigar, launches off Harry’s lap and beelines for the bathroom. 

“We don’t have tiiime for this Leigh Ann,” Ri loudly states as she works to look into Zayn’s scrying bowl while also keeping Loki at bay. 

“And you!” she glares at Loki. “Go lay down!” he retreats to Liam’s end of the couch and lays his head on the armrest.

“Well fiiine” Zayn pouts comically and then POP!

Zayn is now slender, dark skinned girl with a huge nebula of curly black hair, cat eyes and a gold floor length toga. She takes her place next to Perrie, Jesy and Jade who are now all floating above the couch. Leigh Ann promptly closes her eyes as if sleeping, while Jesy entertains herself by changing her feet into vines and back again. Perrie pulls out and begins sharpening a gold dagger. Jade is still texting. Ri is chanting softly to herself and tapping the side of the scrying bowl.

“Do you know where you are Liam?” says the blonde on the couch (she’s called Taylor, remember that Liam, remember) conversationally, looking at him from around Harry’s head, which is positioned so that she can braid his hair, a ritual Liam guesses has ancient origins.

“Niall said this is a place called New London in the year 2123. So no. I do not know where we are.” 

You’re on an island that the Romans called Britannia, far to the north and west of Greece, in their capital Londinium, but it’s now known as New London," says Jade offhandedly

“Okay Romans, right got it.” Liam says, screwing up his eyes in concentration, trying to remember everything he learned in school about the Roman empire.

Ri makes a satisfied noise and looks up from the scrying bowl- “The dark haired one checks out. All he’s used this thing for is weather, watching monsters, watching some slow sport with a bat and spying on former lovers. Typical.” 

“Ooo how juicy let us have a look!!!” “Oh come on now sharing is caring,” “Let us have a little fun for once!” all the Muses complain and cajole over each other at the last pronouncement while Ri shakes her head in exasperation and makes a face at Liam like 'see what I have to put up with?'

Liam forces his face into what he hopes is a mature, dignified disinterest and shakes his head. 

Ri looks back at the bowl, and this time she sticks her whole hand into the water and makes a complicated gesture. “There that should work. A'right Liam come and look here, look into the bowl until the water goes black again. Then you know as much as we know”

Liam peers down into the shallow dish, seeing golden leaves blowing in the wind and old women, knitting, waiting for their visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rihanna is a Muse. Who would Beyonce be, you ask? Beyonce is the mother-goddess. Comments and kudos welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> endless apologies for anything religious we've gotten wrong. please comment and let us know what we should consider/fix/change. also, here's a great video someone made of the fates prophesying in greek: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UgWCJKhg6w0


End file.
